


the waters know their own

by MsLullabies



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alien Biology, Gen, Male Lactation, Not Beta Read, Parent-Child Relationship, Protectiveness, Run-On Sentences, but it's not as sexy and gross as I had intended, how tf do i rate male lactation fic that isn't actually very sexual?, like it's not that good good teen wolf style male lactation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:35:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21803812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsLullabies/pseuds/MsLullabies
Summary: He looked down at the scant ration bars in his stores and thought,I can't feed us both, only to hear some hidden and nearly forgotten part of himself insist,yes, you can.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 269





	the waters know their own

His chest had been sore for a week, and he hadn't realized. He'd thought it was just bruising, the deep kind that left no smudges on his skin but took a long time to heal. Only now, only cornered with almost no rations, did it occur to him. Only when they'd been chased off Alkaid Station before being able to do more than refuel, only when they were wedged down in the canyon of one of the hundred moons of Ord Mantell, with nothing to do but wait a week or more for their pursuers to give up the search, only when he looked down at the scant ration bars in his stores and thought, _I can't feed us both_ , did some hidden and nearly forgotten part of himself insist, _yes, you can_. 

An image came to mind... of his father? A relative of some kind, with a baby at his chest... a younger sibling? His mind shied away from the memory so quickly that he knew he would find pain if he pursued it. And it had served its purpose, anyway. 

He abandoned his thoughts of rigging the autopilot on a timer, of booby trapping the hatch, of finding ways to protect the little one when he would be too weak with hunger to do so himself, and went to the fresher cubicle. It was little more than a wedge of space with sonic emitters, but it did have a panel of polished chromium for a mirror, which he normally used to tend to his injuries. 

He took off his breastplate, but left the backplate in place. They were still being hunted, after all. He reached to his left side, and undid the magsnaps that ran from his hip to his shoulder and then the zipper beneath them, and drew his shirt up and to the right.

Now that he was looking, it seemed obvious. He had muscle enough, but very little fat to his name, a consequence of the life he led, and yet right now his chest looked... not even swollen really, but plush. Full. 

He brought his gloved hand to his left pectoral and pressed against the sore flesh, trying get his thumb beneath that fullness, and squeezed. A long moment passed with only increased aching to mark it, and then a single, pale drop of milk gathered on his nipple. As soon as his grip on himself shifted, the drop spilled over, ran down over his skin and onto his hand, where it sat on the nearly waterproof skin of his glove. 

_Waste not,_ he thought, not even a drop. He squeezed again, let just a little more milk drip onto his glove, and then released his grip on himself and let his shirt fall. He returned to the cot, where the little one was sitting up, his big eyes following the Mandalorian's movements with the keenness of hunger. He had proved himself a sweet and steady child yet again with this misadventure, he hardly ever wailed, even when he was in uncomfortable circumstances. 

"Let's test this first," he said to the child, "make sure it doesn't make you sick before you have a whole meal." Caution was always prudent, but he wasn't very worried about the possibility. They were both warm to the touch, and so far they had shown similar nutritional needs, if different tastes. 

The child watched, blinking, as the Mandalorian offered his finger to him to taste. There was a slight pause before the sweet scent of the milk reached the child's nose, and then he leaned forward, mouth open, almost tipping over. When he made it to the milk, he sucked it up eagerly, his toothless mouth working over the leather. The Mandalorian sighed and relaxed a little, one battle avoided. At least the kid liked the taste.

When the child had drunk up the last of that little sample, he gurgled softly and drew back to blink his big eyes at his guardian, still hungry. 

"We have to wait a little bit now," he said, trying to sound soothing, "we need to make sure that doesn't upset your stomach." He patted the little one's belly through his robe. 

The child took hold of his thumb in his tiny three fingered hand, and turned his hand over and around, bumping his mouth against the leather occasionally, looking for more milk. The warm and sometimes painful affection that the Mandalorian was trying to keep closely under control surged against its bridle.

"In a little bit," he promised, reaching for the knob the child had made a toy of.

\--

An hour later there was still no sign that they had been detected, nor any indication that they would be in the near future, they were well concealed from sight and scans alike. The child had shown no signs of upset or illness, and he could no longer be distracted with the makeshift toy, instead only standing on the Mandalorian's lap and looking imploringly between the face of his helmet, the hand which had offered the milk, and the ration pack on the shelf. He had waited with the child, unwilling to eat before him. He had sensed from the first that the child's ability to understand exceeded appearances, and he couldn't bear to risk giving the impression that he was going to eat, and leave the little one to starve. 

Meanwhile, the sore-and-full feeling in his chest had grown in his awareness, until he felt almost heavy with it, and his skin was alert even to the touch of his shirt.

"You seem alright," he said, "so let's give this a try."

He took the child around the middle and laid him in the crook of his arm, looking to his memory only just enough to see how to best hold him for this endeavor. The little one's brow furrowed in confusion, but he went easily, trusting.

The Mandalorian drew his shirt up again and tucked the hem up under his pauldron to hold it out of the way. A strange series of physical sensations passed through him as he lowered his hand to guide the child's head - his throat ached and his stomach gave a little swoop, his heart pounded harder than sitting still should have caused. Then the child's warmth brushed against his chest, and he realized that for all their time together, he had never touched the child skin to skin. 

He swallowed past the thickness in his throat, and turned the child's head against him. But with no milk immediately present to entice, the child didn't seem to know what to do. 

He eased his hand between himself and the little one, pressed his fingers into his chest as before and squeezed until a little milk came forth. This was obviously not the most efficient way to produce for the kid, so thankfully the little one again caught the scent quickly, and followed the trail of dripping milk until he got his mouth around his nipple.

This turned out to be not much more efficient at first. They were not the same species, they were not even neighbors as far anyone knew, so it only made sense that this was difficult. Their bodies had not coevolved to facilitate this. Or so the Mandalorian told himself, in an attempt to soothe his frustration. 

He shifted the child again, trying to find some angle that would enable him to latch on properly. He had made the little one wait and now there was more delay, with the child getting only a few drops at a time. His stomach tightened with some strange emotion - guilt or perhaps even fear that this would not work all - and just then the child's feet slipped down a little so that he was positioned just slightly more upright, and when he tried again he latched on fully and sucked. 

There was a tingling, rushing sensation as the milk came down, and a strange pulling feeling as the tight fullness in his chest began to ease. The little one made a contented sound, and found his rhythm quickly - a rapid little pull and release that felt like it matched the beat of his tiny heart. His enormous ears twitched slightly, tickling, and after a moment he rested one tiny clawed hand in the center of the Mandalorian's chest as he fed.

The aching soreness did not fade as the little one nursed, but transformed, traveling deeper into the Mandalorian's body, until it had settled into his very cells. He found his finger stroking the little one's cheek, his hand seeming to have moved without his intention, as it had when he had first seen the child in its pod and reached out to it. The child's huge eyes fluttered open at the touch and looked up at him, all trust and contentment. It was catching - a warm and pleased satisfaction chased the ache deep down into him. He was reminded suddenly, strongly, of laying on top of the little being in the speeder in Nevarro, using his own body to shield him from the blaster fire all around them, cornered, just like they were now, looking down at that calm little face and _burning_ to protect him, to bend the entire galaxy around this child's safety. He had known in that moment, and he knew again now. _Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad._ He hadn't said it out loud, he didn't want to make promises he couldn't keep, but it was futile. The words were written on his heart, regardless. 

The child broke away suddenly, smiled and blinked and patted his hand against his chest. He used the opportunity to turn the little one around and offer him the other side of his chest, to even himself out. He was startled at how cool the air in the ship felt, in the scant second that the child was not right up against him as they shifted. But it was only a second, and then that tiny warm body was snuggled close once more. 

The child latched on more easily this time, with the same little suckling pulses, and inciting the same tingling rush and relief. 

The Mandalorian shifted his gaze from the child to himself. His left nipple was swollen, reddened with use and wet with milk. He had been taught as a foundling to always trust his body, to believe the tension in his neck or stomach telling him that something wasn’t right, to have faith that his eyes caught things faster than his brain could process. His body could know, accept, and act, while his mind might linger in indecision. 

They were holed up, cornered. Waiting out pursuers who would keep coming even after this confrontation was over. He did not know when it would be safe to return to their tribe. And at the same time, all was well.

The child finished at last and drew away, a yawn seeming to stretch its way through his entire body. The Mandalorian sat him up and rubbed his belly gently. The child had only a few moments to look confused before a large burp broke free of him, and then a smaller one followed. He gave a delighted giggle, which was interrupted by another yawn, and the Mandalorian turned and laid him down on their cot. 

He stood up, grabbed a polishing cloth and brushed it over his chest. He was too rough over the recently used flesh, and he swallowed a gasp - but it was done and he was clean enough. He pulled his shirt back down, did up the side again, put his breastplate back on.

This was going to take some getting used to, he thought as he made short work of a nutrient bar and a water ration. Even when he wasn't moving, he was keenly aware of the texture of his shirt against his chest, and the press of his armor on top of it. Of course it was also temporary; he would see the child back on broth and small vertebrates as soon as it was safe to leave the moon. But then again, the ache in his chest had started a week ago or more, and there was every chance that his body might continue to insist his paternity. A problem for another time, he decided.

He checked the hatch, the fuel level, the life support, the proximity sensors and alarms, the placement of his weapons - and practiced not twitching when his clothes and armor moved over his nipples. Then he returned to the cot, and carefully lay down, gently nudging the little one to lay between himself and the bulkhead. If anything came in, it would have to get through him to even catch sight of the child. 

The child woke just a little, his big eyes blinking open less than halfway, and he burrowed close against the Mandalorian's armor, as if the cool and unyielding beskar was just as comforting and comfortable to him as warm skin. The Mandalorian rested one hand on his tiny frame, and watched the way the little one's breathing raised and lowered it.

They slept.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Title is from Waiting by John Burroughs  
> \- I'm not a scientist, I don't actually know if this would work? To feed a lactating person only, and then they feed a baby? Trying to google this got me some weird nonsense. Conservation of mass and energy makes me think it would not work. But I also don't think that laser beams can just come to a stop in midair and be sword length, so.


End file.
